Journey to a Realm of Imagination

Or

There and Back Again, a biker's tale by Tony Mansfield

 One of the things that struck me recently is that you don’t have to go very far from where I live (not the prettiest place in the entire universe, it must be said) to see some gorgeous countryside, at least in the way that British countryside is measured. Hughenden Valley has some lovely views, for example, and there is an amazing park in West Wycombe, as well as the Hellfire Caves, both within a couple of miles of my home, to name but a few. The photo I hope you’re looking at below was of something I literally came across in the middle of nowhere whilst taking a scenic route home from work.  I hope you enjoy it as much as I did!

 

A sleepy village on the way home

My journey to the land of imagination was a far longer affair, however and had some vague planning involved in that I knew I wanted to end up at a particular place, but the specifics of how I journeyed there were very much up in the air, even as I travelled down.  

A view from a service station

In the event, the journey to the coast was about 100 miles, travelling through sun-drenched countryside that was beautiful in that genteel, civilised way that England seems to have in abundance, with nary a motorway in sight. One mistake I made was to pick up the A34, which had some very effective windbreaks on either side of the road, which prevented you from seeing pretty much anything. That was soon rectified with the help of my satnav, which did a fine job of keeping me vaguely on track while I indulged my sense of adventure in discovering just where this turning would take me. I love doing this, and on a dazzling day like this, the feel of the wind on my face, the sense of joy in just being able to enjoy the sun, and the process of the journey was, is, and remains just amazing. With the odd break here and there to relax, it was a superb experience and one I hope to repeat.

The final part of my journey saw me travelling through part of the New Forest, which is a national park and every bit as stunning as the images you can get from Google imply. The sad part for me was that if I am going to do more of these trips (as I intend) I need a better means of recording them than my phone!

 

The New Forest, however, was not the land of Imagination that was my planned destination. While I have fond memories of the book and odd journeys to the seaside, passing through parts of the New Forest, my land of Imagination lay within the Town of Lymington, close to the south coast. I had come across this mysterious place on Facebook and had wanted to visit it ever since. Today was the day!

As I was coming up to Lymington, however, it seemed that an evil fate had it in for me, or perhaps it was the ghost of Yellow Peril (see previous stories for some of that) reaching out from beyond the grave for one last reminder of times long ago. My Satnav ran out of power even though it was supposed to be charged by my lovely bike and not reliant on its battery! The ghost of evil laughter echoed in my head…

This meant that the last part of the journey was rather fraught, navigating through an unknown and really quite busy town. I was, however, rescued by the very thoughtful provision of motorcycle parking spaces in the High Street. From there, I was able to make my way on foot to the Land of Imagination. But first, I took the time for a quick walk around the town and did a bit of research.

Lymington itself is a town with a storied history, the first settlement in the area being an Iron Age hill fort called Buckland Rings. It still exists, and I intend to pay a visit there at some point in the near future. The Jutes settled Lymington in the 6^th Century, and I’ll quote the internet without shame here. “The name is derived from  Limentun. The Old English word ‘tun’ means a farm or hamlet, whilst limen is derived from the Ancient British word ‘lemanos’, meaning an elm tree”

It was the site of salt making from the Middle Ages onwards (wars have been fought over salt). At one time had the town had a strong shipbuilding industry and a considerable military presence. I found a lot of stories about smuggling, and legend speaks of smugglers' tunnels under the High Street, leading to the town’s quay. Sadly, I didn’t find those!

I did see a lot of Victorian and Georgian architecture in the town centre, and some fine cobbled streets around the quay. I really enjoyed looking around this beautiful town. It’s well worth a visit for its own sake, and in the words of the Film Star, ‘I’ll be back’.

However, having had that bit of a wander round town, it was at last time to find an end to
the first part of my journey, the Land of Imagination. The Land of Imagination is, as some of you may have gathered, an independent bookshop called The Imaginarium.

I've been following the saga of the Imaginarium ever since I came across it on Facebook, and I had been determined to visit here for a long time. My bout with Part 1 of the Big C had prevented the visit, but today was the day. The journey here was, by the way, the longest ride I’d done since Autumn last year, though I’d had a few training runs, one ending up in Berkhamsted Castle (which I’ll write up another time).

Those of you who know me a little will understand why I take an interest in quirky, independent stores, having owned and run one for 10 years or thereabouts, back in the day.  Running an independent store of any sort is very hard work at the best of times, and running a specialist independent bookstore is one of the hardest, given the general dominance of internet-based retailers and the internet-savvy nature of the customer base. Seeing one thrive like this was, and remains, an absolute joy. My anticipation grew.

Well, the subject of my interest was not far away, and at last, I walked around a corner, took a short walk further, and this is what greeted me.

Not the Castle AAARRRGGHHH!! 

But…my quest was at an end. Well, the first part was at least. The Imaginarium lay ahead!

Inside was the treasure trove I was hoping for. The first book I ever bought with my own money was also the first fantasy story I ever read. This, for reference, was the Weirdstone of Brisingamen, which is still in print and started a lifelong love of the genre.

Finding a place that specialised in books of this ilk (that’s not in London, Oxford or a Forbidden Planet) was the most wonderful and being able to walk inside was delightful, as you’ll see below.

 

An absolute cornucopia of magical tomes awaited me, from ‘mere’ novels to magnum opus (opi?) which rivalled War and Peace in sheer size, with everything in between represented in considerable depth. I saw old friends, and gateways to new worlds I’d never seen before. In short, everything I could have asked for from a visit to a fantasy bookshop.

However, I got rather more than this. I got to talk to Robyn, the bookshop owner, and I found that the shop had survived and was even thriving, thanks to the support it had from a community that really wanted it to be there. She talked freely about the seven book clubs they supported, the hard work they did every day, and how much of a joy the work was, however long the hours were.

I also met a few of the customers who frequented this realm where imagination ruled, and they suited the shop to a tee, real characters who added considerably to my day.

Of course, no visit to a real bookshop would be complete without coming away with at least one book, and this was my haul, thanks to some strong recommendations from Robyn, who knows a great deal about her subject and recommended some books I would never have thought to try, had I been left to my own devices. One small caveat. The Sherlock Holmes hardcover comes from another of my favourite bookshops, Chapter 2 in Chesham, which will take part in one of my stories soon.

I am enjoying the first of those recommendations right now, having finished the book I was on, and I have to say this was a fine choice of Robyn’s!

While I didn’t want to leave, it was sadly time. I had a long journey ahead of me, but there was time for a swift break in the Ice Cream shop next door. Oh dear, how sad, never mind!  

Before I left, however, I did ask Robyn where the name ‘The Imaginarium’ came from; it’s not, as you might think, derived from the film, The  Imaginarium of Dr Parnassus, but I will leave her to tell you the story when you go down and visit yourself. It’s so very much worth your time and effort.

So at last, with a day of fine memories behind me, it was time to head home. Without the aid of the Satnav I had to take a far more straightforward route home than I took coming down, and time was getting on, but that didn’t mean that the journey wasn’t without its merits. I arrived in Wycombe, after suitable breaks, just as the sun was setting, a fitting end to a highly enjoyable day.

Reflections

Like all of us, I don’t know how many more days like this I have left. It added a special aura to the journey, and I’ll remember this day for a very long time. For the record, I intend to be around to enjoy a lot more days like this and will visit the Land of Imagination many times.  This visit reminded me very strongly of all the things places like this do to enrich people's lives, and of a time in my own life when turning up to work every day was an absolute pleasure. I hope I was able to do something similar for at least some of the people who visited my own shop, back in the day.

Go visit the Imaginarium. Both of you who read my stories will love it. And, by the way, they do mail order. That’s a hint, by the way

https://www.imaginariumbooks.co.uk/

Journey to the Land of the Thugs Game (Played by Gentlemen)

 It’s been a while! But then any of you who can be bothered to read this stuff or just need a cure for insomnia will know that I only post when the muse takes me. Be warned, there are no demon-possessed bikes or humiliating trouser-falling-down episodes in this story!

 Concerning the journeys of my youth series – that’s going to happen but I have had a battle with the big C which has, among other things,  prevented me from getting on the bike. However, in good news, it looks like I’m winning said battle. Whatever comes next, it's time to live my life once more!

This particular story comes from an invitation to see some friends up in the wilds of Rugby to have a Sunday lunch. I’m always up for a free lunch so that was an easy sell. Add the prospect of good food, a historic setting and fine company and I was hooked!

Normally this would have been a journey I’d have taken on the bike, but given that my friends don’t drive for right now and they weren’t up for being towed to the restaurant on rollerblades (dammit!) I had to take the car. Now, don’t misunderstand me, I like my ancient Honda. It does the job, is dead reliable and extremely well-engineered. It just lacks the fun factor of a bike and definitely lacks the fun factor of towing people on rollerblades. (Don’t give me rubbish about personal risk either! Half of the most enjoyable things I’ve done in my life would bring Health and Safety out in hives!)

Given the limited choice in transport, I still chose to take a scenic route for the journey up and was treated to some of the delights of the English countryside in Oxfordshire and beyond. Yes, it lacks the immediacy of taking the bike, but I enjoyed the journey as much as possible in a ‘slightly less crappy Honda’. (And the person who described my admitted granny mobile like this knows who they are!).

When I arrived in Rugby, I was struck by how old the part of the town I was driving through was. Thatched cottages and Tudor-style buildings were everywhere, nestled alongside very modern shopping centres and industrial estates.

The town has quite a history too, with settlement in the area since the Iron Age, and I found that a fortified Roman Town existed about 3 miles northeast of where the town is today. According to legend, the Thugs game was invented in 1823 by a schoolboy named William Web Ellis. Go Figure – I thought it was much earlier than that, being the first version of football with actual rules, and now being called a thug’s game it was rather wussy because the original ‘Beautiful Game’ was played between two villages with a solid ball and people died in the matches!  I do know that there were concerns that football would interfere with the legal requirement for archery practice on a Sunday after mass and there were many attempts to ban it for various reasons, not just the archery.

Gentlemen Illsutating how to play the thugs' game

When I picked up my friends, I was treated to a whistle-stop tour and potted history of the town as we passed through it, touching on the history of Rugby School which was originally meant to be a free Grammar School for local boys but gradually became a private school for fee-paying pupils drawn from all over the country. I am told that the Lawrence Sherrif School (named for the founder of Rugby School) was created to continue the original intentions of Rugby School.

Rugby School Today

In any case, we arrived (all too soon) at our ultimate destination, the Dun Cow, which has its own storied history and was first built in around 1540. You’ll see the outside of the Pub below and a representation of the Dun Cow below that.

If you were to ask me she’s a bit of a page 3 cow but legend says she was a "monstrous beast four yards high and six yards long" which provided milk to the locals.  A witch made it go on a murderous rampage (which, I guess, is what witches do) until it was slain by Guy, Earl of Warwick! I imagine it’s a bit of a change from dragon-slaying, right? I am sure his fellow knights were suitably impressed by his bravery and prowess

French Knights being truly impressed

Lunch was rather splendid, a very good Sunday lunch indeed. The roasties and Yorkshire puds did not appear to be celebrating their birthdays (a feature of pub Sunday lunches in my experience) and we were served with humour and attitude by the staff there. However, what made it truly special, as you hope these days will be, was the company and conversation, which ranged all over the place and didn’t hesitate to go into some deep places which I won’t be talking about here!

Afterwards, we went on a tour of the immediate area and I found, as well as some lovely old houses, to my complete shock, the site of ‘Guy Fawkes House’, marked by an understated plaque, with no commercialism in sight!  

This was the old Lion Inn where the gunpowder Plot conspirators met on the fifth of November, 1605 to await news of the destruction of Westminster. Upon the arrest of Guy Fawkes their plan to seize Princess Elizabeth from nearby Coombe Abbey was abandoned and the rebellion which led to their defeat three days after the fifth was planned by the conspirators here at the Lion. To commemorate these connections this old inn goes by the name GUY FAWKES HOUSE (Dunchurch Parish Council. A.D. 1951).’ So Guy Fawkes never lived here and nor did he own the property, but who cares! It was quite a find nonetheless!

Walking around the area (you’ll see something of it in the photos) was a real treat, especially if, like me, you enjoy the old places in this country but the thing that struck me was that there were fresh flowers on some old grave sites. Given where I was at the time this gave me a degree of hope in the human spirit.

So we headed back, by murky passages, and some roads, where I was treated to more fine company (and a nice cup of tea) after which  I headed home. By now it was dark so I couldn’t enjoy the journey back in quite the same way but I did get a nice break in a service station where I reflected on the day.

Reflections

I have said before that one of the things I am fortunate to be rich in is my friends. This day reminded me very forcibly of that simple fact, which is, in essence, why I’m writing about it.

Don’t misunderstand me, I’d like to be rich in knowledge and wisdom, and well, riches, but If I had to choose just one of these things to have, this is what I would select first of all. I am really, truly, rich in this regard and I am so very thankful for it.